


Solitaire

by darrus



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrus/pseuds/darrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely night in Budapest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitaire

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of always shipped Klinsmann/Matthäus even back then when I didn't know the word "shipping". With all their complicated relationships from the beginning and through their playing careers and beyond made me think of some sort of angsty-edgy type of feelings between them.
> 
> In my headcanon they were lovers during 1990's and it ended up so badly it still backfires. And still some sort of feeling remains...
> 
> This happens sometime during spring of 2007.

“Lothar!”

He lifts his head.

Marijana is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. She looks annoyed, and probably there will be another fight tomorrow or the day after, depending on when she decides that she’s had enough of whatever is not right by her this time. Her night gown is black. Yesterday she wore red.

“Don’t speak so loud, children are asleep already”, his voice is low and even.

She glares at him.

“Are you going to bed?”

“I’m waiting for a call”.

“It’s 2 a.m. already!”

“It is important”.

She leaves the room in a whirl of black chiffon. She is angry. It is a worrying thought.

 

He lowers his gaze to the phone in his palm. He is sitting like that for two hours already. The black plastic is warm to the touch.

The screen is empty.

He starts typing another message.

‘I’d like to speak with you’.

If he wants to talk, he simply has to call. Jürgen gave him the number himself.

Delete.

‘How is your work?’

Their relationship is not close enough to ask such questions.

Delete.

‘Giovanni will be glad to see you in Salzburg’.

Bad wording for an invitation, and it won’t do to hide behind Trapattoni’s back.

Delete.

‘I love y…'

Delete.

‘It would be…’

 

“Lothar”.

Her voice is much quieter now. Changing the tactic probably. He turns so she won’t see the phone in his hand.

“Yes?”

“Did you set the alarm-clock?”

“I did”.

She smiles. The strap of the night-gown slides down from her shoulder, as if by accident, her breasts are full and firm. This sight turns him on. It would turn every man on.

“Still no call?”

“Go to sleep. I’ll wait a bit more. It is important”.

She turns around, the movement harsh and angry. Maybe she even suspects that he is lying. His wife is a clever woman.

 

He is typing without looking at the keyboard.

‘… good to see you here’.

Not a message he could send to the man he is barely speaking with.

Delete.

‘I want to tell you about…’

Whatever he wants to tell him about should be said in person, not by text message.

Delete.

‘Wish me luck for tomorrow’s game’.

If only the match was important enough to ask others for good wishes…

Delete.

‘I love you’.

Delete.

‘I want to hear your voice’.

Melodrama.

Delete.

‘Your thoughts about Germany’s last match?’

Surely Löw was first to ask this question.

Damn this Löw to seventh hell.

Delete.

‘I…’

 

“It’s late, Lothar”, she sounds worried.

He nods.

“Just go to bed. I’ll come soon”.

 

And his fingers are already running over the keys again, as if by their own will.

‘… love you'.

Delete.

‘How was your surgery?’

He should have asked this question six days ago.

Delete.

Such a foolish game.

Such a useless way of wasting time.

He will never send any one of those messages.

‘I miss you’.

As if Jürgen cares.

Delete.

‘When will you be in Europe?’

As if he can ask Jürgen about his plans.

Delete.

‘I love you’.

As if it matters.

Delete.

 

Marijana is right.

It is too late already.


End file.
